The Coward
by I'm Just Drawn That Way
Summary: In honor of Sev's birthday 1/9: Snape loses it all when he kills Dumbledore & joins the Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor. There he finds Lucius Malfoy, just released from Azkaban, struggling with his lack of position in Voldemort's organization. SS/LM SLASH.
1. Chapter 1: The Lie

_Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and most of the backstory are not mine, but belong to the awesome JKR herself. Some of the particulars of this plot are mine, but I'm not making any money from it, thankyouverymuch._

_Thanks to albe-chan for suggesting this pairing (well, really, it was her sister!) and to James Darling for her ideas about the Malfoys' marriage. Extra-special thanks as always to Felena1971 for beta reading._

**The Coward**

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_**Chapter One: The Lie**_

The little shit called me a coward tonight.

I saved Harry Potter's life – again – and the arrogant fuck called me a coward. If he only knew – but of course, I could not tell him. Not yet. If he knew what it took for me to do what I did, how much courage it took…

I killed a man. And not just any man: Albus Dumbledore himself. True, true, he was dying already. It doesn't matter. I pointed my wand, I said the words, and I finished him off. I lost, in the two seconds it took to utter that curse, not just the person who understood me better than any other, but also my protector, my livelihood, my beloved potions lab, my safe quarters, the servitude of the Hogwarts house-elves, and my three square meals a day. I lost any semblance of a good name, and all help in my quest for revenge. In a word, everything.

Where does this leave me? If I am to bring down the man I most despise – the psychopathic Dark Lord who murdered the woman I loved – I will have to do it on my own, without the irritatingly smug and self-righteous but also (damn them) very useful members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Coward, he said. It took unimaginable courage to walk through the front door of Malfoy Manor tonight, knowing that for the foreseeable future, all of my time will be spent with people who will certainly kill me if they get so much as an inkling of where my loyalties truly lie. I have not felt such a heightened sense of danger, have not felt so alone and trapped, since the night I went to Dumbledore with the news that Voldemort planned to kill Lily Potter, and begged him for help. I entered anyway, accompanied by a handful of Death Eaters and one very unhappy Junior Death Eater – my student, my charge, the enormous thorn in my side for the past several months, Draco Malfoy.

Narcissa Malfoy met us just inside the imposing doorway. She is as perceptive as she is lovely – she knew, before any of us had spoken a word, what had taken place. She saw in her son's face that he had failed in his attempt to kill his headmaster, and confirmed with a glance my direction that I had finished the task in his place.

In hitting the old man with the Killing Curse when Draco found himself unable to act, I had fulfilled the terms of the Unbreakable Vow I made (under duress) to Narcissa, and granted Dumbledore's dying wish. Narcissa got what she wanted, so she should be happy. Instead, she looks very worried. Neither of us can predict the repercussions of what I have done. If the old coot is, as I suspect, currently rotting in hell for turning me into a murderer, he may well have company very soon. Who will it be? Any or all of the Malfoys? Me? Time will tell, and sooner than I'd rather.

"It is done, My Lord," cries Bellatrix Lestrange, hastening my appointment with destiny. "The old man is dead!" She dances wildly around her sister's drawing room, cackling and chanting the word. "Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead!"

Within moments, the Dark Lord himself and the rest of the inhabitants of the Manor gather in the large room, including Narcissa's husband, my old friend Lucius Malfoy – or, more accurately perhaps, my former mentor. We were housemates for one year – both Slytherins. And I was a particularly resourceful Slytherin. Lucius Malfoy was well connected, and I was not. Helped along by a happy accident, I made damned sure that by the time he left Hogwarts at the end of my first year, I had connections as well.

While I finished up my schooling, he joined the Death Eaters, and moved up the ranks to become one of Voldemort's most influential followers. His vast riches certainly helped in that regard, as he was able to finance operations and grease wheels at the Ministry and St. Mungo's as needed. In the midst of his rise to power, he lost his parents, inherited their home, and got married. When I finally graduated in 1978, I found my way to the Death Eaters as well. Although Lucius's time was well occupied by his business dealings, his new wife, and his service to the Dark Lord, he became my mentor once again, helping me gain status over most of the other Death Eaters.

Everything is different now. Double-agents don't have mentors. The life of a spy is a very lonely one.

"Well, well, Draco," Voldemort practically purrs as he sweeps into the room. He sits in a high winged chair near the fireplace, his enormous snake Nagini at his feet. "Our dear Bellatrix bears good news, and yet you do not glow with your victory. I should think you would be proud to return to me with such a report." He steeples his long fingers and rakes his eyes over Lucius and Narcissa's son.

Beside me, Draco struggles not to squirm. Were I less disciplined, I would be squirming as well. I redouble my Occlumency shield.

"HE didn't do it," crows Bellatrix. All eyes turn to Draco. Draco stares at the floor. Narcissa stifles a sob, and Lucius looks to me for answers.

"I see," says Voldemort. "Tell us, then, Draco, why you did not obey my orders." He draws his wand, and caresses it slowly. Draco breaks out in a sweat; its acrid scent fills my sensitive nostrils.

"I t- tried," Draco stammers. "Everything was g-going according to the p-plan."

The Dark Lord waits patiently for the story to unfold. Every moment of Draco's distress is a living hell for the boy's parents, which I know pleases the sick bastard. He may kill Draco, and quite possibly his parents as well, but he intends to drag it out and make them suffer for as long as possible.

Draco makes several more attempts to speak, but he is mute with dread. I recognize the symptoms, from years of having induced them in my students.

Perhaps it is that stray thought that triggers my rash behavior – Draco may be an irritating, arrogant snot of a child, but he is – was – my student. And nobody treats my students badly. Nobody but me, that is. Before I can stop myself, I am speaking on Draco's behalf.

"It is true, My Lord," I hear myself saying. "Young Mr. Malfoy had accomplished what had seemed impossible, in gaining access to Hogwarts for the Death Eaters with a matched pair of Vanishing Cabinets that created a passageway into the school from Borgin and Burke's. He created an impenetrable darkness to throw the castle into chaos. And most importantly, he found himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore, alone on the Astronomy Tower, and he disarmed his opponent."

"Very good, Draco," says Voldemort, his red eyes still on the boy, instead of on me. "But one wonders why, if you had gotten so far, you were not able to complete the task I set for you."

I clear my throat, and, Merlin help me, continue. "I am certain, My Lord, that the boy would have done your bidding, had I not acted rashly."

This gets the slimy bastard's attention. He turns his penetrating gaze to me, and again I check my mental shields.

"Severusss," he says, drawing out the last sound into a near-hiss. Nagini raises her head and looks at me, too, with an intelligence that is unnerving in a reptile. "You are determined to speak, rather than let the boy tell his own story. So be it. You may now enlighten me. What passions moved our famously reserved Potions Master to rash action? And how, precisely, did you disrupt the boy's mission?"

There is no escape now. I must spin a web of lies, knowing my existence – and probably Draco's as well – depends upon the Dark Lord not seeing them for what they are.

"I arrived atop the Astronomy tower shortly after the boy, having been briefly detained by the infernal Order of the Phoenix." Narcissa, several feet away to my right, inhales sharply. I cannot look at her, cannot let her distress distract me. Everything depends upon how I tell this tale. Voldemort's eyes flash as well at the mention of the Order, but he waves a hand languidly to let me know we'll get back to that. I fight the urge to swallow, knowing that body language and tone of voice are paramount in selling my version of events. I continue.

"I found Dumbledore cowering before Draco: wandless, helpless, fear in his eyes. Weak. He disgusted me. My Lord, all those years of bowing and scraping to the man, so that he would believe I followed him faithfully... All those years spent laying out the beauty of potions before mudbloods and blood traitors, watching them befoul the object of my passion with their clumsiness and ignorance and apathy… I have denied my anger for so long. He begged me for help, still believing even then that I was on his side. In that moment, I was overcome with revulsion. I wanted nothing but to see him dead, by my own hand. It was only as the body fell backward over the battlement that I realized what I had done, that I had dishonored Draco… and you, My Lord. It was not intentional." I kneel, hoping that I'm not overdoing it.

Silence fills the room in the moments after my confession. Several others were on the tower, and witnessed what took place there. Whatever they thought they saw, I need them to believe my version of events. It is to my advantage that I am voluntarily taking blame for something. They are unlikely to contradict me when I have lowered myself like this. They are more than willing to let me take the brunt of the Dark Lord's wrath – so long as it is anyone but themselves.

I can sense a general drawing back among the others in the room: they don't want to be near me, in case my shame is contagious. The longer the silence stretches, the more I begin to think I may survive another day. If he was going to kill me, he'd have done it by now.

"I sssee," Voldemort finally hisses. "Draco, I told you to do the job, or there would be consequences. Do you have anything you would like to tell our dear Severus?"

"Y-yes," Draco whispers. I look up at him. He is as pale and pinched as I have ever seen him. His eyes are wide with fear. "I hate you, Snape," he says. He might even mean it. "You took what was rightfully mine. You caused me to fail in my mission. This is YOUR fault. You lost control. You are weak."

This is almost as rich as Harry Potter calling me a coward. I have saved Draco's life multiple times, as well – tonight among them.

Voldemort laughs, and several Death Eaters join him. This could get very ugly, very quickly. If they kill me, they distance themselves from me and my "failure," permanently.

"Well said, Draco," purrs Voldemort. "I shall not punish you today, nor your parents, as it appears you would have succeeded in carrying out my orders were it not for the interference of your _former_ professor." The boy visibly relaxes, and I sense a loosening of tension from Lucius and Narcissa, somewhere behind me now. "As for Severus…."

Instinct tells me to hold my breath as I await my sentence. I force myself to keep breathing steadily.

"Draco, and Draco alone, may punish Severus in any way he sees fit. I only hope he will make it entertaining for all of us." My eyes are still locked with Draco's, but reflected in them, I see the Dark Lord gesturing widely to the assembled crowd, his face cracked in a grimace, the closest thing he can manage to a smile with his distorted features.

Draco will not kill me. He may want to kill me, but he will not do it. He has already shown me that he is not a killer. He points a trembling wand at my heart.

"Crucio," he rasps.

The pain is brief; his curse has no power. This will never do. He cannot look weak in front of the other Death Eaters, let alone Voldemort. He needs to get angry. I sneer disdainfully, looking down my considerable nose at him, goading him.

"Crucio," he says again, but with more conviction. The flames of pain lick at me longer this time. We're getting somewhere, now.

The crowd laughs at my discomfort. I take advantage of the noise level, and whisper to Draco as I climb to my feet again, "Potter does it better." Predictably, Draco's eyes flash with genuine hatred. If he can channel the intensity of his rivalry with Potter into his next blast, it might be enough to convince Voldemort and everyone else that he is not weak, and that he really was about to kill Dumbledore. "Potter does everything better," I whisper cruelly, now clutching at Draco's robes, hoping it will appear that I am more injured than I am.

"Fuck you, Snape," he cries, shoving me off of him onto the floor. "Crucio!"

That's more like it, I think to myself, as the edges of my vision go dark. I hear someone screaming. I think it's me. My muscles wrench themselves with the pain, and I thrash on the Oriental rug. A booted foot connects, hard, with my face. I may have overdone it with the taunting.

Voldemort claps, and Draco lowers his wand. "Very good, boy," the Dark Lord croons. "I believe you have made your point." More laughter from the Death Eaters, and a lot of movement, as one by one, they all file out of the room, headed Merlin knows where. I don't care where they go. I lie on the floor for some time, eyes closed, gathering my strength as I prepare to rise.

Before I begin, I feel someone approach stealthily, probably in bare feet. Judging by the faint movement of the floorboards below me, it is someone slight of build, probably Draco, or one of the house-elves.

A cool hand touches my cheek. "Thank you, Severus," Narcissa whispers.

I open my eyes. She is in a pale blue dressing gown, and what appear to be satin slippers. Her white blonde hair hangs loose over her shoulders. As consciousness dawns, I become aware of her signature scent: epiphyllum, the night-blooming orchid. The fact that I did not register the perfume before hearing her voice speaks volumes about the quality of Draco's attack. Some say that the epiphyllum's enchanting fragrance has the power to steal men's souls. I am unaffected. Perhaps my soul is already lost.

"Come," she says. "Let me show you to your room."

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_Hello, readers! I know it's been forever since I've posted anything. If you like Drarry, maybe you've read the two stories Felena1971 and I have posted to our other account, WordNerds2008. _

_It's lovely to be back. Hope you enjoy our latest effort. No prediction yet on how many chapters. I think I've got almost three drafted so far and I'm nowhere near done. I know Lucius is barely in this chapter at all, but trust me, he'll become quite a factor in the next chapter, which we hope to post within a few days (since it's already written and just needs to be beta'ed)._


	2. Chapter 2: The Malfoys

_Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and most of the backstory are not mine, but belong to the awesome JKR herself. Some of the particulars of this plot are mine, but I'm not making any money from it, thankyouverymuch._

_Thanks to Roy J, Susabelle, Tom L, Okiewan, and Hammie for brainstorming hexes. Even more thanks to Okiewan for helping me get past writer's block at a critical point in this chapter. Gotta love a married man who is secure enough to read and write slash. Extra-special thanks as always to Felena1971 for beta reading._

**The Coward**

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Chapter Two: The Malfoys**

I wake early in the morning in an unfamiliar room. The walls have a mother-of-pearl sheen like Amortentia, and the bedclothes and upholstery are a deep shade of plum. This is not where I usually sleep when I stay at Malfoy Manor. I suppose His Snakeliness has taken that room, likely the best-appointed guest room in the mansion. Ah, well. Even the shoddiest room at the Malfoy estate far outshines my neglected home at Spinner's End, or even my quarters at Hogwarts.

My body aches - all of it. My left cheek hurts when I yawn, and I remember vaguely that Draco kicked me there when I successfully goaded him into a convincing Cruciatus Curse. I attempt to roll over onto my right side, to make sure nothing touches the injured cheek until I get a chance to heal it.

It takes a few moments, but I manage it, and in so doing, come face to face with Narcissa, still in her dressing gown. Salazar's balls, has she been here all night? I recall that she helped me rise from the drawing room floor, and led me to these quarters. I did not notice at the time that this wasn't my usual room –my attention was fully occupied by my struggle to remain upright. I am suddenly aware that I am clad only in my boxers under the silky sheets. I have no recollection of disrobing.

"Good morning," she says. She sits on the edge of the bed, watching me.

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

Her presence in the room must have been what awakened me. When you're in enemy territory, you don't sleep deeply.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

She reaches a delicate finger toward my injured cheekbone. "I wanted to check on you. Draco was rather more vicious in his punishment of you than I thought was necessary. I healed your face last night, but I imagine it still feels tender."

I push her hand away, and gingerly touch my face. "On the contrary, I believe Draco needed to be that vicious to show the Dark Lord that he was capable of true violence. Our Master has no use for weakness or hesitation."

"You were very brave," she says. "You knew you would be punished. You could have been killed. The terms of the Unbreakable Vow had been satisfied already, and yet you continued to protect Draco. It was... inspiring."

Her breast rises and falls rapidly. Her skin is flushed. Not good. She lowers her pretty face toward mine, lips gently parted, eyes closed. I reach up with both hands to grasp her shoulders, stop her descent.

"I feel a certain protectiveness toward my students," I tell her. "If it was in my power to save his life, I felt I needed to try."

Her eyes open. Their clear blue pierces me. "I wish there was some way I could repay you." Her tone is ripe with suggestion.

Narcissa Malfoy is coming on to me? She is undeniably beautiful, though I do not desire her. The only woman I have ever desired was Lily. Every time I have gotten close to another woman has felt like a betrayal of her. Clearly, she did not feel the same about me, however, as she had no qualms about marrying my arch-rival and tormentor, James Potter.

"You could bring me my clothes."

Narcissa's lower lip slides out momentarily, just a fraction of an inch. I am certain that she has a potent pout. Fortunately, I have been spared the full-strength version. She reaches for my trousers, folded on a nearby writing table. It is clear that she undressed me last night - I would never fold my trousers when I could drape them over the chair back and keep them unwrinkled.

She places my clothes on the corner of the bed. "There is nothing else you… desire?"

"Nothing, Narcissa. You have done quite enough, thank you."

She stands to leave just as a knock sounds on the door. Perfect. I am unclad, with a married woman in my room.

Narcissa answers the door. She looks just as surprised to find Lucius on the other side as he is to find her opening the door.

"Hello, darling," she says, recovering first. "If you've come to see how our guest is faring after being tortured by our son, I've beaten you to it."

He schools his features back into their customary cool expression. "Naturally," he says with a slight bow. "The perfect hostess, as always. Now, if you will excuse us, Severus and I have business matters to discuss."

"I was just leaving. But please, darling, do not overwork our guest. He needs rest to fully recover from his injuries." She leaves the room in a swirl of robes.

I frown at Lucius as I push myself up onto my elbow. "If these matters can wait, I should like to dress. I do not feel comfortable discussing business in my underclothes."

Lucius is, of course, impeccably dressed, despite the early hour. Even as a student he was always scrupulous with his attire. Today's ensemble consists of pale gray robes over a white shirt and black trousers. "Relax," he tells me. "I just said that to get rid of her. I don't want to discuss business." As if to show me that he is relaxing as well, he removes his robes and drapes them casually over the chair before he lowers himself gracefully into the spot so recently vacated by his wife.

"That is a relief," I say, flopping back down. "My muscles are rather sore, and getting dressed may be a lengthy process."

"I can help you, if you like," he offers.

No, thank you. Even if it takes me an hour, I would rather dress myself than have Lucius help me with it, as if I were a helpless child.

"Why are you here, Lucius, if not for business?"

"Can a man not visit an old friend?"

"Yes, he can," I reply. I suppose Lucius's purpose in visiting me will come out eventually. I do not believe he is here merely for a social call.

"It has been some time since we have seen each other."

"Indeed." In fact, it has been almost exactly one year. Lucius has spent the past twelve months in Azkaban, and has only just been released. Though he is still a very handsome and well-put-together man, his year-long incarceration has taken a visible toll. His once silky white-blond hair has lost its sheen, and his gray eyes have a haunted quality. He has lost weight, as well. He used to be a powerfully built man, and is now almost wiry.

"You finally got appointed to the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I heard."

"I did. However, I believe I will keep the tradition alive of lasting no more than a year. Something tells me that killing the Headmaster will have eliminated me from the teaching roster."

"I wouldn't be so sure," says Lucius, with a knowing smirk. "The Dark Lord will be taking over the school now, and you may well be retained."

"I thought you wished to discuss matters other than business," I chide.

"My apologies," he says.

We sit in silence. Either Lucius has nothing further to say, or he is unsure how to proceed. I want to ask him about Azkaban, and how he is readjusting to his freedom. But he will not see it as genuine concern. He will take my question as a suggestion that he is weak. Our natural tendency as Slytherins is to approach conversation as competition. As Death Eaters, we are even more suspicious of each other's motives, as the stakes are higher.

Rather than a question, I try an observation. "You are looking well, Lucius, for a man who has spent a year in Azkaban. I am glad to find you back in your home, with the tender ministrations of your wife to help you heal."

To my horror, Lucius's gray eyes mist slightly. His stint in prison has definitely damaged him, and in more ways than meet the eye. He turns his head away from me to hide his reaction. "This is no longer my home," he says gruffly. "For all intents and purposes, it belongs to the Dark Lord, now. And I believe you have seen more of my wife's tender ministrations than I have."

"My friend," I say, and struggle to my elbow again. The pain is not quite as intense this time. I push on until I am sitting up, propped against the headboard. "Narcissa was merely checking on me. The extent of her tenderness has been to heal the wound on my cheek." As I have no recollection of her undressing me, and I stopped her before she kissed me, my answer is mostly true. "Surely she has been a comfort to you since your return."

"She is furious with me," he says, shaking his head. His haunted eyes turn to me again. "More than you can imagine. She holds me responsible for the danger our son faced this year at school. Had I succeeded in securing the prophecy, the Dark Lord would not have drafted Draco into his service."

I nod, noncommittally. It was my action, alerting the Order of the Phoenix, that ensured Lucius's failure. I had no alternative, however. I am still trying to correct a mistake I made fifteen years ago when I gave Voldemort a partially overheard prophecy. I mentally shake off unwanted emotion. I have enough guilt. I need no more.

"She also resents me for being gone this past year, unable to protect her and Draco."

I suck in a breath. "My gods, man. She does know what Azkaban is like, does she not? Certainly she understands that you did not go willingly, and that you were not off on some playboy vacation while she and Draco fended for themselves?"

"She knows," he says. "And yet, she has not told me much about the time that I was away. What I found when I returned was the Dark Lord, living in my home, and treating everything of mine as though it belonged to him." He looks at me significantly.

"You're not suggesting…" But yes, he is suggesting it. If Voldemort wanted to shame Lucius to his core for his failure at the Ministry, getting Narcissa Malfoy into his bed – by seduction or by force – would not be out of character at all. I shudder involuntarily. I know power is supposed to be a tremendous aphrodisiac, but the Dark Lord's visage is barely human anymore. I shudder to even think of the rest of him.

"I have no evidence, of course," says Lucius. "She has not said anything. But she is angrier with me than she has been in all the twenty-two years of our marriage, combined."

"Twenty-two years," I muse, "is a long time."

"Yes," he says. "A very long time." His elbows are on his knees, which are spread wide. He cradles his forehead in his hands, lost in thought.

I pull my legs from under the blanket, and slowly, painfully, scoot so that I am sitting next to him on the side of the bed. It does not matter that I am still only in my pants. Seven years of living in a boys' dormitory accustoms one to that level of exposure. I place a hand on his shoulder.

"I am certain, my friend, that you will regain your wife's trust and affection now that you are back and you can once again protect your family," I say.

His head snaps up, his eyes meet mine again. They are narrowed dangerously. "Regain her trust and affection," he echoes. "You make her sound like a neglected house pet."

"I meant no offense," I assure him. "I had always assumed that you… married Narcissa more out of duty than out of love. You told me that you were betrothed to her since you were children. Your parents thought her a proper match for you, a pureblood who would produce fine looking heirs. And as planned, she bore you a son to carry on your family name. By all outward measures, your marriage has been successful, and beneficial to you both."

He knocks my hand off. "You doubt my commitment to my wife."

"Not your commitment. And not your affection. I have seen that you and Narcissa are… close. And yet, after twenty two years, you have but one child." I raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

Lucius's gray eyes blaze with cold fire. There is some life still in him. The dementors of Azkaban have left something of the old Lucius after all. "So you think I'm just some limp dick who can't get it up for my wife? Who the fuck are you, Severus, to be making any judgments about my marriage?"

"I have some basis for judgment," I tell him. For one thing, in the past few hours, his wife undressed me, caressed me, attempted to kiss me, and came just short of offering me anything I wanted of her many charms.

"You, who've never been married, never shagged a woman? Never even had a girlfriend, as far as anyone knows!"

Now, THAT is getting personal. "What makes you think I would share the details of my sex life with you?"

"Hah," he sneers. "You don't have a sex life. Never have, never will. The Virgin of the Dungeons."

My jaw drops open. Au contraire, Lucius. I will have him know that I have had my share of partners over the years – all of them lusty seventh year boys on the eve of their graduations, thus minimizing complicated entanglements. A certain percentage of my students inevitably find my stern classroom demeanor rather… stimulating. "I have more experience than you do, Lucius," I boast. "I could fuck you six ways to Sunday and still have plenty left over to take care of your lovely wife's needs."

He shoves me, and I fall, hard, back onto the bed. "I'd like to see you try!"

I grab his shirt and pull him down with me. "I bet you would," I growl. "I know what you like, Lucius." I yank my shorts down with one hand, my cock hard and waiting. "Suck it," I command.

Lucius leaps to his feet, and I am sure he's about to hex me until my dick turns black and falls off. But instead, he snarls at me. "As if I would debase myself by servicing a lowly teacher." He throws his wand on the bed so that both hands are free to rip at his trousers. In moments they are pooled on the floor at his feet, and his pants soon join them. He grabs his erect cock, shoving it toward my face. "You need a real wand," he sneers.

Somehow I am sitting up again. If there was pain involved, I did not notice it. Lucius's turgid cock is pointed right at my mouth, barely an inch from my lips.

"Isn't this what you need, Severus, to be the man you thought you could be?" He angles his hips forward slightly and drags his weeping cock roughly across my lips.

Fuck. Fuck, yes, that is exactly what I goddamned need.

And before I can think better of it, my hand closes over his, and my tongue swipes over the head of his shaft. He moans loudly and throws back his head, his long hair almost brushing his arse. I grab his wand off the bed with my free hand, and cast Muffliato, one of the most useful spells I have ever invented. It would not do for Narcissa or Draco, not to mention any of the Death Eaters, to hear the noises I intend to drag out of Lucius.

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_A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope it was worth it. Felena1971 and I have both had a few days of not feeling up to par that slowed us down. Chapter 3 is mostly written, and we hope to have it up within a week._


	3. Chapter 3: The Tryst

_Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and most of the backstory are not mine, but belong to the awesome JKR herself. Some of the particulars of this plot are mine, but I'm not making any money from it, thankyouverymuch._

_Author's note: Thank you to aliciamarie4 for helping us come up with more synonyms for "cock," which, while we love it, can get monotonous. Special thanks as always to felena1971 for beta reading._

**The Coward**

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Chapter Three: The Tryst**

I have lost my mind. There is no other excuse. There is no rational reason why I should be sucking Lucius Malfoy's dick while he grabs my hair and yanks, hard.

On the other hand, nothing at all makes sense anymore. In a world as fucked up as this one – a world where Dumbledore is dead by my own hand, and Voldemort is taking over Hogwarts – maybe having Lucius's engorged phallus in my mouth is no stranger than anything else.

In the past, it was always my wand in someone else's holster, so to speak. Students who got a perverse thrill out of having me order them around took "sucking up to the teacher" literally. The little sluts would come crawling on their hands and knees, begging me to fuck them. I have no idea how long it has been since I last performed fellatio. I find it compelling, however. There is power in the act. Lucius is at my mercy now. His long pale thigh quivers under my left hand.

"Fuck, Severus," he groans. "Fuck you, fuck you." He shoves me away from him again, and dives for his wand. Again my guts seize up with dread – he looks utterly deranged. "_Incendio Garnamenti_," he yells.

I scream as my pants are ignited. I beat at the flames with my hands, but a moment later the flame is gone, and I am unharmed, though now completely naked. And then Lucius is on me, bent to the attack, biting my chest and cramming a long finger into my unprepared anus. I arch off the bed with a howl. So much for Lucius being at my mercy. The wand is in the other hand, now.

"Beg me," he pants. "Beg me for it. I know you want it, Severus – you've always wanted it."

"Lucius, for God's sake, some fucking lube!"

"Beg me!" He withdraws the finger partway, then shoves it back in. He scrapes against a spot that makes me see stars.

"Lube, goddamn it!" Pleasure and pain combine to make me say whatever the hell he wants me to say. "I beg you, please, fuck me, just use some goddamned lube!"

He snatches up his wand again, and I feel the warm, slick effects of the lubrication charm as another finger joins the first. "I'm going to pound you," he says, as much promise as threat. "I'm going to pound you into the fucking cellar." And before I can catch my breath, his fingers are gone, replaced by his throbbing cock, and he is making good on his word.

Holy mother of Merlin. Again, I am far more comfortable doing the pounding myself, rather than being on the receiving end. Those boys always spread for me like practiced whores. Like I am doing now, for Lucius. It is wrong of me to want this.

He slams into me, cursing vividly. When he comes, he looks like a wild animal, all wild hair and snarling teeth and ropey muscles straining. I am overcome with the beauty of it. My cock remains untouched, yet I shoot my load into the space between us as he collapses on top of me.

We lie there together, panting, until the jism between us gets uncomfortably cool. He rolls to my side, recovers his wand, and wordlessly cleans us up.

"Well," he says, now that he has recovered his breath. "That was…."

"Different," I say.

"I was going to say 'intense.'"

"Yes," I agree. "That, too."

He laughs, something I have only been witness to a handful of times in all the years I have known him.

"What the hell was that burning clothes charm?"

"Scared you, did I?"

"No," I lie. "I am just unfamiliar with that particular use of the Incendio charm. Your modification?"

"Mine." He looks extraordinarily smug. Even for Lucius Malfoy.

"Fine, then," I tell him. "You owe me a pair of boxers."

"They were hideous, anyway. I'll get you something decent. Silk, preferably. Actually, I'll set you up with several new things. You left everything at Hogwarts except the clothes you wore last night, and your wand?"

"Yes, damn it all. My books, my potions equipment and ingredients…"

"A house elf will come later today to measure you. The clothes you wore last night are probably beyond repair. Not to mention several years out of fashion."

He smiles as he speaks. Nothing makes Lucius happier than haberdashery, unless it's sex followed by haberdashery.

I dislike the idea of him dressing me according to his tastes. I am very comfortable in my traditional style, and prefer black clothing. "Do not even consider it," I warn him. "You would have me draped in lavender and baby blue like that fool Lockhart. I will not stand for it."

"I believe I prefer you lying down, in any case. And without the clothing, whether lavender, blue, black, or polka dotted."

I push away from him with a glare, and rummage in the sheets at the foot of the bed for my trousers. They are crumpled, naturally. I pull them on anyway, and return to the search for my shirt. The sex endorphins must be acting as natural pain killers, as I am able to step into my pants without agony.

Lucius, propped up on one elbow, watches with an eyebrow raised in a typically skeptical expression. "Something wrong?"

I freeze in the middle of my rummaging through the bedclothes. Slowly, I turn back to face him. His eyes widen when he sees my enraged expression.

"Everything is wrong, Lucius. Listen to yourself. Not fifteen minutes ago you were trying to defend your marriage. Now you presume to plan my wardrobe, and assume that I shall roll over and be your fuck-toy. I am not like him. You cannot treat me that way."

"Not like….?"

Damn him, he looks legitimately confused. He cannot have forgotten something like that.

"Evan Rosier, you prick," I yell. "I will not allow you to have your way with me whenever you fucking feel like it, while pretending to yourself and everyone else that you love your fucking wife!" I find my shirt, wadded up between the mattress and the footboard.

The blood drains from Lucius's face. "For Salazar's sake, man," he says, his eyes wide. "You can't let it go, can you?"

"I know what I saw, Lucius." I fumble with the buttons on my shirt, as I am transported back through the years. "Even an eleven year old boy knows passion when he sees it. When I found you there…" He was on fire. Evan Rosier, a fifth year boy, was bent over an armchair while Lucius plowed into him. I was transfixed, unable to breathe, let alone move.

Now his eyes narrow suspiciously. "You wanted me that night," he concludes. "I bought your silence with political connections, but all I really needed to do was fuck you and you would have done anything I asked."

Untrue. Probably.

"What does it do to you, Lucius, when you think of that night?"

"I don't think of it," he insists, looking away. "I never think of it." Finally, he raises his eyes to mine, and I can see in a flash, even without employing Legilimency, that he is lying.

Lucius may find it convenient to pretend – even to himself – that he has forgotten about Evan Rosier. I, however, find it unconscionable. I may have lost Lily, but I will never forget her. If Lucius felt for Rosier even a tenth of what I felt for Lily – and I believe he did – he owes him at least this much . Rosier should live on in the memories of those he left behind.

"Your eyes were closed, both of you," I remind him. "I stepped out of the hallway from the first year dormitory, and found you caressing Rosier's back with one hand, the other holding tight to his hip. Your hair – you usually had it tied back, but it was loose, and it hung like a curtain of heavy golden silk in the firelight." I fight the impulse to reach out and touch Lucius's hair as he sits on the bed, facing me. I fiddle with my cuffs, instead. "Rosier was completely naked, and your hair brushed against his cheek with each stroke. Your pants and trousers were around your ankles, your shirt completely unbuttoned and pushed halfway down your back. Your shoulder blades and legs gleamed alabaster, and I saw every flex of your muscles as you drove into him."

Lucius closes his eyes, remembering. His usually pale face is flushed, and his breathing is accelerated. His lips part. I look away, focus on the fleur-de-lis patterns in the wallpaper.

"I couldn't have made a sound even if I had wanted. Not that either of you would have heard me anyway."

Rosier keened softly, and Lucius punctuated his thrusts with grunts and words of encouragement _– yes, Evan, yes, that's right_… I watched as Lucius climaxed, spilling himself into Rosier with a hoarse shout.

"When you finished, you turned him around and dropped to your knees. Your own release was not enough for you – you needed his, too." He took the boy's swollen cock into his mouth. Within seconds, Rosier cried out, too, his hands clenched in Lucius's hair. And then Rosier opened his eyes and he found me, standing there, rooted to the spot.

"I should have killed you. I should have blasted you apart without thinking twice. The house-elves would still be finding bits of you even now."

Our eyes meet again. He speaks casually of killing me, but something in his gaze tells me he is more hurt than angry.

"You chose not to." I sit again, next to him on the edge of the bed.

"I should have. It would have guaranteed your silence."

"You got my silence. As we agreed. You introduced me to powerful friends, and I kept my mouth shut about what I saw. I have never said a word about it to anyone but you. Well, and Rosier."

"You talked to him about it?" At first, Lucius looks worried, but then he sneers. "Probably just wanted to know what it was like, so you could imagine it better when you jerked off."

My masturbatory predilections are not the subject of this discussion. I ignore the accusation, no matter how close to the truth it might be.

"When you graduated," I tell Lucius quietly, "it broke him. For much of my second year, he followed me around wanting to talk about you. I assure you, I discouraged it. Regardless, I gather that Narcissa remains ignorant of your youthful dalliance."

"And she'll stay that way," he says. "At least Rosier won't be talking."

No, Rosier will not be talking. Rosier is dead. He, too, joined the Death Eaters upon graduation, and was killed by Aurors six years later.

"You speak of him so indifferently. I always thought…"

"You question my relationship with Narcissa, and imagine a relationship with Rosier when there was none."

His eyes dare me to disagree with him. I take the challenge.

"Lucuis," I say, not even knowing why I want to argue about it. "I cannot pretend to know anything more than the public face of your marriage."

Well, except that your wife undressed me and tried to kiss me, but some things are best left unsaid. Where was I? Oh, yes. The imagined relationship with Rosier.

"I do know, however, that whatever it was you had with Rosier was not merely a one-off. You were together frequently during that entire school year, and he, at least, believed it was more than just physical. He had hoped that you would break your engagement to Narcissa and wait for him to graduate and join you."

"Then he was a fool," Lucuis growls, though his eyes have misted again and his face is even paler that usual. "Foolish enough to believe that I loved him, and foolish enough to get killed by the Ministry's hired wands."

Again, I touch him on the arm. He turns to me, not even trying to hide his eyes this time. They are full of pain.

I see in them all the pain I have not allowed myself to feel – cannot allow myself to feel. I hurt Lily – in so many ways – and I can never make it right, because she is gone. Lucius must have known he hurt Rosier, and now Rosier is dead, too.

"Love can make fools of us all, Lucius," I tell him. "Or so I am told."

* * *

_A/N: I'm heading out of town for a few days and won't have a laptop, so I wanted to get this posted before going. Yay! I'll try to at least outline the rest of this thing, if not write out some of the next chapter longhand. Hope to have Ch 4 up in a week or so._


	4. Chapter 4: The Dangers

_Disclaimer: Characters, settings, and most of the backstory are not mine, but belong to the awesome JKR herself. Some of the particulars of this plot are mine, but I'm not making any money from it, thankyouverymuch._

_A/N: Much thanks as usual to the lovely Felena1971 for her beta-ing talent. Thanks also to KingAsher142 for one of Lucius's crueler lines._

**The Coward**

**

* * *

Chapter Four: The Dangers**

Lucius glowers at me, and maneuvers his slender body off the end of the bed. His cock, long and pale, hangs flaccidly against his thigh as he retrieves his clothing from where it fell. He dresses hurriedly, as if he needs to feel less exposed, in every sense of the word.

I understand.

Lucius had been dangerously close to facing a part of his past he had buried. We had been discussing his relationship with the late Evan Rosier, a relationship I believe meant more to Lucius than he cares to admit, maybe even to himself. I suggested as much, and he called Rosier a fool. Then when I defended the boy, remarking that love can make fools of us all, he closed down completely.

Now, predictably, he goes on the defensive. "What's your excuse then? You are the biggest fool I know, Severus, and yet you love no one. Except, perhaps, yourself."

"And you must love the sound of your own voice, as any meaningful content is clearly optional. You know nothing about me."

"You lied to the Dark Lord," he says, sitting now in the chair at the writing table and replacing his shoes. "That makes you a fool. You could have been killed."

"What makes you so certain that I lied?"

"I know my son," he says, simply. "He was no more about to kill Dumbledore than I am about to use your shampoo. He lacks a killer's discipline. He is too emotional, too soft. You killed Dumbledore because Draco was unable to do it."

"If that were the case, would I not have said so? You underestimate your son."

"No. I do not. But I am still puzzled by your motivation. You risked death by lying to our Master. You earned a round of surprisingly effective torture. The question remains, though: why? Why not just tell the truth, and let Draco face the Dark Lord's wrath?"

I manage to keep my jaw from dropping open. Even so, it takes a few moments to recover my power of speech. "He probably would have been killed," I finally say. "And you and Narcissa along with him. You believe I should have let that happen?"

"On the contrary, Severus: I am quite glad you didn't. I still don't understand your behavior, however. In protecting Draco, you endangered yourself. This is not the kind of action I have come to expect from you. What would dear, old Salazar say?" He smirks at me.

I barely understand it myself. I think I just could not bear the thought of Voldemort being proven right, setting the boy up and then watching him fail.

Lucius's eyes suddenly widen. "Unless….."

No. Lucius cannot have gleaned my true feelings about Voldemort from so little information. He is, in the end, not imaginative enough to add up any clues he might have stumbled upon.

"Look at me, Severus."

Is Lucius so foolish as to think he can bypass my defenses. As if I were not so well trained in masking my emotions and blocking my thoughts that I could fool Voldemort all this time. I have nothing to fear from meeting the silvery gray gaze of my host, my former mentor, and – now, apparently – my lover.

He slides gracefully from the chair to kneel at the side of the bed. He cups my chin in his large hand, as he stares into my eyes. After a long moment, he tilts his head slightly to his left. His face is barely two inches from mine, our mouths aligned, his breath warm on my lips. "Kiss me," he murmurs.

Last night, on the Astronomy Tower, what I wanted to do and what I needed to do were wildly divergent. Right now, however, I have no such conflict.

I need to kiss Lucius, and make it convincing. Interestingly, I find that my needs and my desires merge in this instance. It is best if I do not question this development.

During those few seconds when Lucius's eyes bore into mine, he gave away much more than he learned. Even without my wand in my hand, an unvoiced "Legilimens" tipped me into Lucius's mind. He is almost laughably transparent, his emotions raw and strong. Compromised emotional stability is a predictable after-effect of constant exposure to Dementors for a year.

Not wanting to experience the Dementors vicariously, I proceeded carefully at first. Luckily, Lucius was almost completely consumed with one idea. He believed I acted foolishly last night when I lied to Voldemort, and he wondered, after my earlier comment, if it could be attributed to love. Which of the Malfoys, he wanted to know, was I trying to protect?

Narcissa is lovely, as Lucius well knows, and I had made that comment earlier about fucking him and still having enough left over to take care of her needs as well. As for Draco – student-teacher relationships are frowned upon, but not at all unheard of, and as Draco's professor and head of house I would have had the means and opportunity to pursue him. And while Draco's strength of will may be debatable, his good looks are not. I would have been blind not to notice that he has grown into a beautiful young man.

Even so, Lucius rejected both of those options. I knew the precise moment when he concluded, partly out of vanity (and partly out of sheer denial that his old friend might be in love with either his wife or his son), that he himself is the object of my affection and the reason I threw myself into the line of fire last night. Still, he has some niggling suspicions, and he expects this kiss to put them to rest. He needs confirmation. I intend to give it to him.

I close the distance between us slowly, and brush my lips against his. His breath quickens and I can feel his heart pounding under my left palm as I slip the fingers of my right hand into the hair at the nape of his neck. Ironic, really, that not so very long ago I was naked and he was buried balls deep in my arse, and yet this feels so much more intimate. I kiss the corner of his mouth, teasing it open, and deepen the kiss. As I probe his mouth, he sighs and I feel him release his doubts.

His arms wrap around me, and I let him take control of the kiss. Lucius is a man who needs to be in control, particularly after having lost so much control of his life lately. In giving this power to him now, of course, I increase my odds of getting what I want in the long run. If I can make Lucius believe I do love him, then… But now is not the time to plan. Right now, I can lose myself in this embrace, knowing that the more convincingly I give in, the better. My head falls back, cradled by Lucius's hands, as he plunders my mouth.

And then suddenly, he stops, pulls back, and smirks knowingly. "Yes," he says, more to himself than to me. "Yes, I see."

He stands, turns to the mirror to check his appearance. His face is flushed, his hair mussed, and his clothes wrinkled. Stunning. Lucius is usually so careful about his appearance, with not a hair out of place. It pleases me that I have affected him so. It would, however, be dangerous for him to leave this room in such a condition.

"Lucius," I say softly, and he turns back to me. "You must stay here with me, just a bit longer."

He laughs again, and combined with the heightened color in his cheeks, it takes at least a decade off of him. "There, there," he purrs. "Now that you've finally had a little Lucius, you can't get enough, eh? Don't worry, Severus, I will return. Sadly, I shall be missed if I stay. Tonight, perhaps, I can visit again." He takes a stride toward the door.

I manage – just – not to roll my eyes at his vanity. I almost correct him, then stop myself. Let him believe I find him irresistible. Whatever it takes, he must stay long enough to pull himself together. Nothing good can come of his leaving this room looking freshly shagged. Besides, I have something to teach him.

"Tonight is not good enough," I tell him. "Stay. Just a bit. You have too much color in your cheeks right now – people would notice."

"People," he says, his hand on the doorknob, "would assume I have been with my wife."

"And what, Lucius, would your wife assume?"

He turns back to scowl at me. "My wife would assume that she should keep her mouth shut."

"Would she be upset?"

"I do not believe it is possible for Narcissa to be more upset with me than she already is."

"Do you really believe that she has been, er, spending time with our Master?"

Lucius hesitates. "I do believe it happened while I was away. I am not certain it has continued since my return."

"Is there any chance Narcissa would turn to him as a way to punish you?"

"My gods, man," Lucius sighs, and sits again at the writing desk. "You have quite a talent for killing the mood."

"I am merely being practical, Lucius. What would the Dark Lord do, if he knew we… had been together in this way?"

I watch as horror dawns on him, bit by bit. Eventually, he swallows, as if choking back bile, and whispers, "I do not ever want to find out. I am certain he would be more sadistic than I can begin to imagine. We would likely both find ourselves dead, but not until he had humiliated us both so greatly that we would welcome death."

"Then he must never find out. And, to be on the safe side, Narcissa must never suspect anything, either."

Lucius lets out a slow breath. "Agreed," he finally says.

"In that case," I tell him, "I have something to teach you."

* * *

_A/N: I am so sorry it has taken so long to get this chapter posted. I've really been struggling with this fic. I am committed to finishing it, and hope never ever to have such a long gap again in anything I write. I know how this story ends, but the path to getting there is not utterly clear to me. If you have any suggestions or ideas, please let me know in a review or a PM. Your insight into these characters could prove very helpful to me as I try to hammer this thing out, so that I can move on to writing something else. Why is writing Lucius so freaking hard, when writing Draco was so delightful?_


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